


Stranded

by sigridthehaughty



Series: Stranded [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: M/M, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigridthehaughty/pseuds/sigridthehaughty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desert planet + pon farr = about what you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> Story notes, circa 1999: While there are some superficial similarities, this story has nothing to do with the Voyager episode 'Gravity.' Also, this takes place sometime before Tom's demotion, so he's still a lieutenant.
> 
> Thanks: There are quite a few people out there whom I'd like to thank. Lianne for giving this a first read and encouraging me to go on; Karen/s for being such a doll and helping me find slash resources; Raku for a MOST excellent beta; and VSP (Voyager Slash Perspectives) in general for their warm welcome and feedback. Also, all those authors who have written fabulous Tu/P slash who, not coincidentally, include Lianne, Karen, and Raku.
> 
> Plea: If there's more Tu/P out there, let me know about it!
> 
> Originally posted to ASCEM 16 August, 1999. ASCEM can also be accessed via alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated

\--- Week Three ---

I sat and watched as Tuvok continued to dig. He's seemingly obsessed with it. The reason for the pit escaped me -- it's too big and deep to be a grave for one loud-mouthed pilot. But maybe after three weeks he just keeps digging so he doesn't actually throttle me. Although I think I've managed to stifle myself for the most part. Maybe it's the boredom.

Initially, I felt like a toddler asking questions. Why? What now? Whatcha doin' that for? Stop doing that and come out and play...

Cripes, there's nothing to _do_ on this planet. It's not even worth worrying about whether we'll survive because we will. But unlike a real shoreleave, my only entertainment is to be found in watching Tuvok dig in the dirt. Hmmm. Sightseeing.

Down boy.

Anyway, it was just another day in the Delta Quadrant, and then one of those random Delta Quadrant space anomalies sent us spinning into another system. Voyager will eventually catch up with us -- in a couple of weeks or so. The latest message indicated they'd been sidetracked while fending off hostile aliens, recovering a probe, hunting down a renegade neutrino buoy. Whatever.

I briefly wondered whether I could interest Tuvok in building sandcastles. No, that would probably interest him less than suffering through my attempts to play K'Alto with him.

For a moment I contemplated making a giant earth sculpture the _commander_ could see when Voyager finally picks us up. He'd look out the viewscreen, and there would be a dirt hill 100 meters long saying 'fuck you, Chakotay.' But then I look down at the digging Vulcan and think that this little project is more than enough for the two of us.

Sighing, I took a swig of my water -- conserve, Tom! -- and jumped down to help him.

"Mr. Paris. Your assistance is not required."

"Yeah. I know that Tuvok, but what else is there to do? Might as well pitch in." I picked up a shovel and began to dig. We achieved a rhythm which I found pleasing, I'm not quite sure why. I began humming, then stopped. I probably annoy the guy enough already. It's impossible for me to tell.

We continued in silence (a silent Tom! -- practice apparently _can_ makes perfect, even in my case) and finally I had to stop and straighten my back. It's actually cool down here in the pit. Relatively speaking, that is. We have made the most of being marooned on a desert planet. And I think it reminds Tuvok of home. He certainly doesn't mind the heat.

It's hard for me not to cast surreptitious glances in his direction. Gods, I wish I could stop noticing his, er, physique. He's been working bare-chested and right now the muscles of his chest are glistening with sweat. I never thought a Vulcan would fuel my midnight fantasies. It's usually easy to think of Tuvok as an asexual being. But lately...

Face it Tom, you're the kind of guy who would be fucking the livestock if there were any handy.

I sighed.

But it wasn't just his physical attributes. While Tuvok and I were friends, sort of, being alone with him for so long was actually kind of calming. I'd lost that low-level _itchy_ feeling that's been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember.

"If you are tired, I suggest you rest," Tuvok said. "As I mentioned previously, my efforts are adequate to the task."

I flopped to the ground on the side of the pit that the sun _wasn't_ blazing into. The sand was still damp and comfortably cool against my back. Tuvok has managed to keep the walls from sliding in by coating them with some substance. I opened my mouth to ask why we're doing this, then closed it again. When I met Tuvok's eyes, there was something suspiciously like humor glinting in them. But then he looked away and began to dig.

I ran through the possible reasons for this pit. We were in the middle of a desert, more or less, and we had found the only available water source for miles. It was holding out just fine, but we were being careful. The shuttle was too damaged to fly, but we'd rigged up solar panels so we have the standard subsistence rations plus limited replicator use. We'd survive for a while longer before we starved to death. The shuttle served as shelter...

So why the pit?

I stood up and began to dig again. Wait till the Delaney sisters got a load of these muscles. And a fabulous suntan to boot.

\---::---

Mr. Paris was determined to help me at my task although I had time enough to complete it without his assistance. He cast surreptitious glances at me, and I pondered the nature of his thoughts. Meanwhile, I noted anew that the sun had tanned his skin and that his hair was becoming increasingly blonde. My own skin had become somewhat darker.

A study in contrasts from an aesthetic point of view.

I had long ago given up trying to predict Lieutenant Paris's actions and in my spare time began a study of understanding them. I have had more time to contemplate this puzzle since we have been stranded here, although I confess I had not achieved great success. I find that he... intrigues me. To help him combat his boredom, I have begun teaching him to play K'Alto, a game at which, while he did not excel, he was becoming remarkably accomplished. He seemed to take some pleasure in participating in this activity with me although he rarely suggested it. But when I indicated my willingness to play, he agreed with alacrity.

However, he has expressed a disinterest in learning to meditate, although I was of the opinion that it would be of great benefit to him. The lieutenant appeared to have a decided aversion to introspection. I can only imagine how disordered and chaotic his mind must be.

Being stranded alone with him has been a somewhat different experience than previous data would suggest. While he was quite talkative initially, as of late he has become quieter. And the quiet did not seem to be borne of depression, nor was it merely an outgrowth of his boredom. He is the most calm that I have seen him outside of battle and other so-called 'do-or-die' situations. His actions were directed, his manner towards me respectful, though at times it was what one could term playful. The playfulness seemed to be in abatement. He did not now, nor has he ever, quite treated me as most humans treat Vulcans -- in an overly serious fashion, unconsciously mimicking Vulcan mannerisms.

One evening, I asked him why he thought humans did so and he thought for a moment. "Partially because Vulcans can be somewhat intimidating," he said. "And the rest... Mirroring."

I indicated that he should continue and he raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards my face.

"Humans learn by imitating others. Reflecting things back at the people they're responding to."

"It is not how Vulcan children learn."

"No."

He was silent again. My attempts to initiate conversations rarely lead to long discussions and I have theorized that he is deferring to my supposed disinclination for conversation. I decided to continue. "Perhaps that is why humans are so good at pattern-matching."

The lieutenant shook his head and looked at me.

"Human use of metaphor and simile once puzzled me. Why compare something to that which it is not? But then I realized that often the metaphor was used to evoke an emotional response as well as a familiar image. But not always." I waited to see whether Mr. Paris would pick up the thread.

"You mean the human tendency to compare a newly encountered something-or-other to a known quantity in an effort to figure out what it is or how to deal with it?"

"Yes. When we encountered the Kazon, they were originally equated with Cardassians. Later, engineering crew often made comparisons between Borg technology and that of another society's as we were attempting to adapt it to our systems."

"And Vulcans..."

"The Vulcan way is to proceed in a linear fashion, and then to make projections based on available data. The human way is to compare the unknown to an unrelated, but known pattern, and then go back and see where the patterns differ, changing the frame of reference if need be."

"Allowing humans -- and Bajorans and Klingons for that matter -- to make enormous leaps in logic. Or intuitive leaps, as we prefer to term them. And your opinion of this approach is...?" Mr. Paris looked at me, humor in his eyes.

"Pattern matching is an acceptable approach in many situations. There are dangers, however. For example, it was problematic when humans first encountered Romulans. They expected Vulcan-like behavior and were... surprised."

"All on the basis of some really bad haircuts..."

"And pointy ears." I sipped my water and was gratified when Tom appeared choke on his breath momentarily.

"Yes, humans are sometimes too stubborn to admit that they're seeing false patterns."

"Time can be wasted pursuing non-existent parallels, though I would suggest that stubbornness is a different pitfall."

"Emotions do complicate matters, don't they."

Mr. Paris sighed, his expression briefly showing sorrow. I wondered, momentarily, what direction his thoughts were taking but halted that exercise as it is pointless to speculate without data. And then he began speaking again.

"Well, maybe that's why Vulcans and humans often make good teams. The Vulcan reliance on logic and their lack of emotion counterbalances the human tendency to pattern-match and get overly excited about things..."

Mr. Paris is considered by many to be a handsome man and I must admit that his looks are... pleasing. And, aesthetically speaking, it is more pleasing to see him smile, as he is now doing, than to see him wearing an expression indicative of melancholy. Also, 'happy' humans are generally far more productive.

"Indeed. It suggests to me that a combination of human and Vulcan methodology is quite sensible. They are quite complementary."

I ponder my own words and their truth.

\---::---

\--- Week Four ---

The pit was done, and Tuvok was putting the finishing touches on it. Light finally dawned a few days ago. Why _would_ Tuvok want a pit twice as deep as he is tall and sealed with some sort of material that makes the walls hard as cement, not to mention slippery and therefore unclimbable? Not to mention that the walls slope inward.

Well, we weren't sitting in the middle of a desert waiting for a targ to come lumbering along and fall into it.

I've finally mustered up the courage to approach him. I've decided that I need to make my offer in as logical a manner as I can. It's probably a better idea than pretending ignorance until the last possible moment and then leaping on him.

Sometimes my grasp of the obvious astounds even me.

I was fairly convinced, however, that he would decline my offer and jumping him would be what I'd end up doing. Face it, Tom Paris wasn't exactly any Vulcan's dream date. But Tuvok was a friend, I had to at least offer.

Shaking my head, I walked over to the edge of the pit and looked down to see Tuvok sitting there in apparent meditation.

"Hey," I called as I squatted at the edge. The wall-sealing operation was about halfway done.

"Yes, Mr. Paris?"

My courage faltered for a moment. "I guess we completed the task ahead of schedule?"

For a moment he was quiet. "Yes."

"I've been meaning to ask if there is anything else I can do to... help."

Another long pause.

"You have discerned the purpose of this structure."

Only a Vulcan would call an enormous hole in the ground a 'structure.'

I stand and walk to the makeshift ladder. Once at the bottom, I sit, imitating his cross-legged position.

"I want to offer to help you through... this." I looked at Tuvok carefully. Pon Farr is a private thing and I felt awkward even broaching the subject. "From what I understand -- and I don't know much -- Pon Farr is potentially life-threatening."

He nodded slightly.

I took a deep breath and continued. "It seems logical that if there is any way for me to help -- I mean, other than leaving you down here by yourself -- we should consider it." I tried to look calm, as if I knew without a doubt that this was the only course that made any sense, but my palms were sweating from nervousness. Frankly I expected him to say that there was no way in hell he would let the likes of Tom Paris anywhere _near_ him during his Pon Farr.

"I... appreciate your offer of assistance but..." Tuvok began.

\---::---

I meant to tell Mr. Paris that assistance was not necessary, but I did not think I could make that assertion truthfully. My link to T'Pel has diminished and I was certain that at the onset of Pon Farr it would be severed completely. I would not be able to feel the steadying influence that has been present at every one I have experienced -- twelve in all.

At one time, humans believed thirteen to be an unlucky number.

Illogical. However, in this case it may have the appearance of truth. Vulcans do not often survive Pon Farr without the help of a bondmate. In addition, we were not aboard Voyager where I would have recourse to medical assistance as a last resort.

I did not think that I could accept Mr. Paris's offer, though I did not dismiss it outright. I might even have requested it had not his past three relationships taken their toll on him emotionally: The 'break-up' with B'Elanna, Harry Kim's betrayal of Mr. Paris's trust with Seven-of-Nine, and most recently the quickly aborted relationship between Commander Chakotay and him. This had taken place but a few days before the mission that led to us being stranded here.

To ask him to help me through Pon Farr, I had concluded, would be the metaphorical icing on the cake.

Interesting that he should approach me.

Mr. Paris had a reputation for being what humans call 'a love them and leave them' individual, but I suspected that this was not the case. I also suspected that any discussion of Mr. Paris's recent relationships or his psyche would not be met with enthusiasm.

"Mr. Paris. While it is true that you might be of some assistance..."

"I'm not the guy you'd choose for the job if I were the last man on earth. And I'm sure you've noticed by now that I am."

His tone was bitter although the bitterness did not appear to be directed at me. Rather, it was directed inwardly.

The suppression of emotions was to be desired in the face of the possibility of self-hatred.

"My concern is for you. Your physical health. Pon Farr can be... quite violent. And my concern is also for your emotional well being. Your past relationships..."

"Would this be a relationship?" he interrupted. "I mean, I was under the impression that this would be a stop-gap. You need a warm body, mine's the only one available."

Reducing himself to the status of a warm body was not a reassuring sign. And the transitory nature of his previous relationships was precisely the problem. Also, I feared that I might have wounded his pride.

"Is that acceptable to you?" I tried to show concernnot wishing him to interpret the comment as judgment. Apparently I was successful.

"It's not my favorite way of looking at myself but hey, if the shoe fits..."

I reached and stroked his hand gently with two fingers, forestalling further commentary. If we were to do this together, we would have to become accustomed to touching one another. And I sensed that he needed reassurance. Humans find comfort in the sense of touch. I clasped one of his hands firmly in mine.

"I do not see you as a warm body. I see you as an honorable man attempting to help a shipmate without thought of himself. It is not uncommon behavior for you. And I am... most appreciative."

I could not be certain, but the look that crossed his face seemed to be something like gratitude. Obviously I would become more than familiar with the gamut of human emotions in the near future.

\---::---

Both Tuvok's words and the fact that he took my hand deeply touched me. But I tried to stuff all my emotions down -- I know he's a touch telepath -- and as for the rest... Well, I don't think he's going to enjoy everything that's about to be unloaded on him.

I'd been careful not to think of that before approaching him with my offer. Everything I feel, everything I've done -- he will know it all. And in the end? Who knows whether he'll think of me as an honorable man.

He was still holding my hand and I felt reassured somehow.

"I'm okay," I said, attempting to break contact. His grip on my hand tightened. "I'm just hoping that you'll... respect me in the morning?" Yeah, weak joke.

"Most assuredly," he replied. "Come. Let us get something to eat and I will show you the basics of the reciprocal mind meld."

Oh joy, I think. Boy are _you_ in for a treat.

"And I think it would behoove you to learn some meditation techniques."

Might as well teach that proverbial fish to ride that proverbial bicycle.

"You are, of course, free to reconsider your offer at any time."

I nodded my head and he stood, then reached down to pull me up. Briefly his hands clasped my shoulders and squeezed as if in encouragement and then he turned to the ladder and ascended.

\---::---

\--- Week Five ---

I was getting antsy. I hadn't realized there would be so many days between me confronting Tuvok and the onset of his Pon Farr. Somehow I guess I expected my declaration to get the ball rolling and here I am six days later and it's only just begun.

He's sweating lightly, although now that dusk has fallen it was quite cool. I touched his chest reassuringly and attempted to center myself. I was almost comfortable with the two-way link we'd established and wasn't surprised when he sent reassurance my way. He's been doing that a lot.

I reviewed the techniques he taught me. Apparently the fact that we'd melded before when he proved me innocent of murder has helped matters. He's been trying to show me how to shield thoughts I wished to keep private, and I spent some time putting big 'Keep Out' signs on some of my memories. I could feel him, occasionally, impersonally taking in my thoughts and feelings, but he never probed too deeply.

I felt safe.

The meditation techniques were hard for me. Aside from the fact that I seemed to have the attention span God gave a gnat, my anxiety level was a problem. Looking inwardly and taking stock of myself is not a favorite pastime. Memories and emotions that I'd managed to suppress for quite a while -- and frankly, if it ain't broke, don't fix it -- lay down there somewhere. I'm sure it wasn't what Tuvok had intended, but I used some of the techniques he taught me to tamp them down even further.

And then there was the heat. By the time evening came, in the brief cool period before it became bitter cold, I felt completely drained. And through it all I was trying to hide this from Tuvok, sure that if he knew all that I was feeling he'd reconsider accepting my offer. I really didn't want that to happen. Not to mention that Voyager was on the way back to retrieve us.

What fun if they beamed us up in a, shall we say, compromising position...

In between times, though, we actually talked. Before we reached our little agreement, I'd been holding back, afraid that I was pestering him. But it didn't seem to be the case. And he had gently led me to talk about some subjects that I tended not to talk about much, although most of that stuff was safely tucked away. Or at any rate, I hoped so.

The fact that he didn't judge, and that he was concerned for what I would experience during his Pon Farr, made such discussions, well, not exactly easy, but... bearable.

One thing though. He apparently _didn't_ find playing K'Alto with me to be a chore. Apparently I have become 'remarkably accomplished.'

High praise from a Vulcan.

I've found myself truly hoping that Voyager won't return to interrupt whatever it was that has begun between us.

\---::---

I looked at Mr. Paris. He's been trying to keep his concerns to himself; he is uneasy because, during Pon Farr, I will be privy to his thoughts and emotions. Partially, it appeared to be a self-protective instinct, but he was also is concerned that I will find the encounter repugnant to my Vulcan sensibilities, thereby exacerbating the symptoms of Pon Farr.

I was not sure what to expect. I gathered that there were many painful incidents in his past that he was determined not to disclose. While I could not say that I was looking forward to reliving these events in his past, nor his emotional response to them, I was confident that I was capable of enduring these revelations in a satisfactory manner.

I was also confident that they will help me to better understand Mr. Paris.

I caught his hope that Voyager would not return before my Pon Farr and am... encouraged. I reached and covered the hand he had placed on my chest with my own.

It was a surprise to me how well he adapted to being linked. Our previous link had been one-way, but now he could sense my thoughts as well. He tended not to try. For my own part, I respected his desire for privacy.

I trusted that the knowledge Mr. Paris had been willing to share about his past would help me be as considerate as was possible. Sex has been an expression of violence too often in his past and I did not wish my Pon Farr to be to be yet another traumatic experience. However, the potential was very real. He was still willing, and if that changed during the course of events, I would make every attempt to get to the 'pit,' as he refers to it. It may yet serve its designated purpose.

Desire began to well up in me and I stroked Mr. Paris's hand. He opened his eyes. I saw an answering desire reflected there, but I felt his question. Did I want him to help me quell these impulses? I shook my head 'no.' Rising to a sitting position, I cupped his chin in my hand, then ran my fingers through his hair. I had control now. Our first time would be as gentle as I could make it.

\---::---

Gods, Tom, get a hold of yourself, I thought.

No one has ever fucked me with such tenderness. What had happened to the violence he mentioned? It would almost be easier to take.

I don't know that I'll want to give this up.

He was spooned up in front of me and I could feel him becoming restless. I rubbed his shoulder and kissed his neck. For some reason I began singing and it seemed to calm him. Gradually he seemed to drift back into sleep, and eventually, I did too.

\---::---

I awoke to find Tom curled up against me trustingly and all I wanted to do was reach down and ravish him. I needed to wake him, needed to let him see me sane before I am overwhelmed.

But first I wanted to watch him sleep.

Perhaps he sensed the growing restlessness within me because he stirred, then opened his eyes. He looked up at me and I saw a trace of apprehension, but then he reached to touch my cheek. I turned my head to capture a finger in my mouth, then looked to his, hungrily.

His lips parted and I could feel his arousal.

Yes. He wanted me.

\---::---

I woke to find Tuvok looking down at me as if I were a raw steak and he a starving dog. It was unnerving for a moment, but then the passion he felt trickled over me. And behind that, a wave of concern.

I could feel that he was trying to hold back as hard as he could. But I didn't think he'd be able to resist much longer.

I reached out to tell him that it was all right and then he was sucking on my index finger.

Gods, it felt good.

I opened my arms to him and suddenly 180 pounds of Vulcan were pressing me firmly to the shuttle floor. His hand went to my face, his eyes staring deeply into mine. I pressed my fingers to his face and... We were linked. Emotions, memories, thoughts poured between us so quickly it was impossible for me to make sense of it all. And then it stopped, and for a brief moment -- so brief I could have imagined it if it hadn't felt so _right_ \-- it seemed as if we existed in perfect balance.

But then the passion rose inexorably within him until some sort of scale was tipped and suddenly the desire he exuded was matched by my own.

\---::---

I could feel Tom giving himself up to me, holding back only those memories about which he felt the most shame -- most of which seemed to be related to his experiences in prison. They lay like rocks as the rest of his emotions and memories eddied around them.

The feelings poured over me like a river churned up by a storm, the water clouded. Occasional patches of clear water flowed, and then the water would turn dark and muddy again. But the torrent refused to dislodge that which he wished to hide.

Momentarily I wondered at his ability to lock these things away so firmly, and then I was engaged in an attempt to give myself back to him. He did not seem able to accept all that I offered. Or, perhaps, more accurately, he did not seem willing. I felt the urge to force him. I wanted him to possess me wholly, and to possess him in turn.

I could not fathom why he would resist this.

But when the calm came again, I reminded myself that he was here only to help a member of his crew. His intent was not to become my bondmate.

I did not find this realization to be at all satisfactory.

\---::---

\--- Week Six ---

It was over. Tuvok's Pon Farr was over and I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and refuse to acknowledge it. But I didn't. I stuffed the feelings down where all the other bad stuff goes and concentrated on making light conversation. But for a time there, I'd felt that I was a part of him, and that it would be that way for eternity.

I think the bruises on my body horrified Tuvok -- if a Vulcan can be said to be horrified. But I have fair skin. And I bruise easily. I think I made some smart-ass remark about the situation. He seemed to withdraw and I clamped down on my big fat mouth.

He regenerated all the bruises, wiping away every trace of what we had done. What we had done _together_.

We were still linked though. Mentally, I mean. And I wondered whether he could feel me. But I'm afraid to ask. I wanted this link. I wanted it to last. And I was afraid that if I drew attention to its existence he would break it.

\---::---

How could one human manage to keep so much hidden from a Vulcan? I found it easier to read his feelings by looking at his expression and posture than by what was coming to me through the link.

Because nothing was coming to me through the link.

I did not know whether he realized its existence, and considered the possibility that he was trying to sever it on his own. To be truthful, I had not expected a bond to form. But one had, nonetheless.

But my new bondmate had closed himself off from me.

It did not seem at the time that he found the experience to be... objectionable, but perhaps he was swept away by the intensity. Perhaps now that it is over he feels regret? Shame?

The idea that I may have forced myself on him is... unpleasant.

Reminding myself again that I had not expected us to become bondmates allowed me to approach the situation somewhat more logically. I have not been able to successfully meditate.

If he would not communicate with me mentally, then we would have to verbalize our reactions to what passed between us. We are bonded. He must be told this.

I wondered that he did not know it.

\---::---

"We must converse."

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Tuvok's voice behind me, then repressed a giggle at his phraseology. Translated it meant 'We have to talk.' I turned from my task of packing up some gear to face him.

'We have to talk.'

I envisioned a conversation like the one I had with Chakotay. Why 'this' was a bad idea. What 'it' would do to the command structure. How 'it' would affect crew morale. Anything and everything but how he felt about me.

I really didn't feel like having a similar conversation with Tuvok, but like so many things in life, Tommy boy, you don't always get what you want.

I tried to nod casually. I tried not to react as he took my hand and led me to the shuttle. I repressed the impulse to throw my arms around him and beg him to make love to me -- make love? Hell, fuck me -- one last time.

And then I heard the captain's voice. "Voyager to shuttle. We're beaming down."

\---::---

I could not make sense of the expression that passed over Tom's face when we heard the captain's voice. Was it relief? Or was it disappointment?

The shimmers of light indicated that three people were beaming down. Tom staggered when he saw who was among them. I placed two fingers at the small of his back for reassurance and a small pulse of gratitude came towards me before he shut the link down again.

I turned to face the commander.

"You two okay?" the commander said. His eyes went to Tom who appeared somewhat pale despite his tanned skin. I stepped forward.

"We are in adequate health. It would be wise to get Mr. Paris to sickbay, however. I am concerned that he may be dehydrated."

I felt Tom look at me in surprise. I was somewhat disturbed by my utterance as, while water was carefully rationed, any dehydration Tom suffered was minimal. No, I wanted to remove Tom from Commander Chakotay's presence.

We beamed up to Voyager as the commander's team began to salvage the shuttle.

\---::---

Again with the urge to giggle.

Tuvok was seemingly glued to my side. I felt as if I'd acquired a second shadow.

What did it mean? Hesitantly I tried to see if I could sense anything through the link and suddenly I was overwhelmed by a wave of concern. I was so startled that I nearly fell off of the biobed. "I'm okay," I said softly. I tried to send reassurance back to him.

Suddenly my face was held between his two hands and he stared down at me for a long moment. "Good. We still must talk, but first I must report to the captain."

"I should do the same."

The doctor looked from me to Tuvok and back again but then simply ended his program. Tuvok nodded, finally, but I felt as if what he really wanted was to tell me to go to bed and get some rest.

Maybe you've got a new father figure in your life, I thought.

I winced. Great, that's probably exactly what it was. Tuvok _was_ more than triple my age after all. What the heck else would he want with me? Vulcans didn't care about sex _that_ much. Did they even indulge other than during Pon Farr? Damn shame if not, if memory serves me correctly. And memory does, all too well.

I sighed as we walked towards the captain's ready-room.

\---::---

The captain was pleased to have Tom and me back and in good health. Once we had given her the bare outlines of our time on the planet, she wished to update me on Voyager's status. Tom, however, looked exhausted and she soon sent him to his quarters. I decided to tell her what had occurred between us. To describe her reaction as 'surprised' is an understatement.

The captain hesitated, as if not certain she should speak her mind. "I have to tell you I have a bad feeling about this," she said finally.

I could not deny that I felt a sense of unease at her words.

"I think Chakotay may have decided that he made a mistake in breaking things off with Tom. Judging by his insistence on being part of the team that beamed down to the planet's surface, it seems likely. And the last thing this ship needs is two senior officers duking it out over my senior pilot."

"I have no intention of 'duking it out' with Commander Chakotay," I replied. "Mr. Paris will decide between us -- or choose neither of us -- and I will abide by his decision."

My words sounded entirely logical, and were what the captain expected to hear. It was not, however, an entirely accurate summation of my sentiments.

"And I guess Chakotay will have a hard time arguing with the situation if Tom does, in fact, become your bondmate." The captain sighed. "What is the appropriate thing for me to say here -- let the best man win?"

I rose and bade the captain goodbye. I did not feel it necessary to point out that Tom was, in fact, already my bondmate. The question was whether he wished to sever that bond. And I felt it unwise to say that in my estimation, the best man in this instance was most certainly I.

I needed to meditate about these matters, but mostly I needed to know how Tom wished to proceed.

\---::---

When the door chime sounded, I expected it to be Tuvok. That brief bit of communication through our link -- _our_ link -- had given me hope. And he had said that we had to talk. Maybe his conversation with the captain had taken less time than I had expected. Maybe his version of 'needing to talk' was something to look forward to.

I jumped into a clean uniform -- the shower had felt so good -- and then called for him to enter.

But it was Chakotay.

"Glad to see you home."

"Thanks for the welcome," I replied.

"Look..."

He's going to say it.

"We need to talk."

He said it.

Gods, a _positive_ 'talk' was what I wanted from Tuvok, not Chakotay. I was beyond an inclination to giggle. Hysteria threatened.

"Ah, I'm not really up for conversation right now."

"I understand," he replied. "It's just that I've been regretting the way we left things. I've had a lot of time to think." And then he gave me a meaningful look and a self-deprecating smile.

I didn't know what to say. Should I just outright tell him that the dimples were wasted on me? Maybe if he came back wearing pointed ear falsies.

Shit, I just wanted to push him out the door for fear that Tuvok would arrive, find him here, and think...

Tuvok's a Vulcan, I reminded myself. He won't leap to any conclusions. And you can let him know yourself, through the link.

Cautiously I tried to sense where Tuvok was -- still with the captain? No, he was on his way to see me. I let him know that Chakotay had dropped by unexpectedly -- uninvited -- and then turned my attention back to the man in question. I hoped that Tuvok couldn't tell why it was so important to me that he knew that Chakotay's visit wasn't my idea.

Chakotay was now looking at me with concern. I wondered vaguely whether I got a strange expression on my face when I communicated mentally with Tuvok.

"I'm fine," I said. "Just out of it. So maybe later we can talk about this regret thing?" At least, I think that's what I said. I know I was babbling.

He gave me a soulful look, which I ignored. Swiping a hand through my still-wet hair, I glanced in the mirror. Idiot, I said to myself. Tuvok's just coming to make sure that you're okay. And he doesn't care what you look like.

Chakotay finally turned to the door and opened it to find himself chest to chest with a large Vulcan. A large and not-exactly-happy Vulcan? The incipient hysteria had abated and I was back to giving in to a mere case of the giggles.

Tuvok merely stepped back to let Chakotay by and then stepped into my quarters without having spoken a word. The door slid shut behind him and I wondered whether I was actually going to pass out from nervousness.

\---::---

I felt some relief that Tom had initiated communication with me twice through the link after ignoring its existence for a full day. But I would have been more pleased had the subject of the second communication not been Commander Chakotay and his presence in Tom's quarters. I sensed that Tom did not want him there, which was somewhat reassuring.

I chose to ignore the commander's presence as I stepped past him, my eyes instead going to Tom who looked at me with seeming uncertainty. Although, he did seem as if he were inclined to laugh.

Curious.

I reached out through the link but again found it closed. I found much to admire about Tom's control, although it puzzled me greatly. I confess at this point that the erratic and overwhelming link I had anticipated would have been preferable.

Perhaps the mental form of communication was uncomfortable for him, I surmised. So when he stepped forward I did too. After a moment's uncertainty as to the appropriate course of action, I embraced him and held him close.

\---::---

I burrowed against Tuvok, my head tucked into the crook of his neck. He hadn't had the benefit of a shower but I didn't care. I could smell him and touch him and feel his arms wound tightly around me. I didn't even want to ask what it meant, but as I relaxed, I sensed him through the link. He wanted to communicate. I just wasn't so sure he was going to say something I wanted to hear.

Tentatively I opened up my end and I felt everything he was trying to convey. The emotions were deliberate. Reassurance. Concern. Affection... I stepped back slightly to look into his eyes, still damn careful not to take my hands off him. I couldn't quite believe what I was feeling. What he was feeling.

Gently he pressed his lips to mine. I kissed him back, savoring the taste and willing this not to be a dream. Then I sent that thought to him through the link.

I caught a wisp of a thought... He felt that how I dealt with my anxiety about our relationship was somewhat illogical. But mostly, I got the sense that he was relieved. A taste of contentment before desire began to well up within him. But then he set me away from him and brought me to sit next to him on the couch.

It briefly occurred to me that I was a coward for not having just laid my cards out on the table when I realized what experiencing Pon Farr with him had meant to me, but I pushed that thought aside. His other feelings were so much stronger. And I liked them so much better. I curled around him, wondering why he wasn't still kissing me. Why we weren't headed for the bedroom. But hell, I'd take what I could get. His voice startled me.

"T'hy'la -- we still must talk."

\---::---

The fundamental illogic of humanity is puzzling. Apparently Tom was not willing to open himself up to the link because he feared finding out that I did not want him as my mate. Living with uncertainty and pain was better than knowing the truth, experiencing that pain, but at least having the possibility of healing.

I still find this highly illogical.

But the satisfaction of finding my mate as committed to me as I could desire overwhelmed my inclination to ponder this paradox further in order to better understand Tom. I allowed myself to sink into his arms and to relish the taste of his mouth before moving on to 'clear the air.' But once seated on the couch I could feel him wondering why I had not immediately initiated contact of a sexual nature.

I needed to make it clear that I do not view him solely as a bedmate.

And then I felt his amusement.

'We need to talk' is, apparently, a loaded statement. When I said these words to him down on the desert planet, he expected to be 'let down easy.'

Humans have such strange expressions. I shared this thought with him and he snorted, then pressed closer.

Most satisfactory.

Carefully, I brushed his damp hair back from his face and explained that I had been unable to ascertain the nature and extent of his feelings towards me, although it was clear that I had been correct -- his desire for me did predate Pon Farr. Also, that he had strong feelings of respect, trust, admiration, and 'liking' for me.

I explained that his seemingly reluctance to fully participate in the meld had led me to conclude that he was interested in nothing more than friendship.

How he was able to hold back from such participation in the meld was puzzling to me.

Tom laughed softly and offered up the phrase 'let's just be friends' as being a companion to 'we need to talk.' And then he began to apologize profusely.

I quelled his apology -- it was unnecessary -- and explained that I did desire him as my bondmate. That we were, in fact, mated, although the link could be severed if he desired.

His reaction to that statement left me in no doubt as to his sentiments.

I explained that I wanted us to meld again, so that we could know each other fully.

Did he prefer to try it now, I asked, or to develop trust between us and work our way towards that eventuality?

\---::---

"I _do_ trust you, Tuvok!" The words burst out of my mouth. "This isn't about you, this is about..." I cut myself off. My words seemed very loud after so much unspoken communication. And I wasn't quite sure what I had been about to say.

And then there was a reassuring hand running through my hair and reassuring thoughts in my mind.

I swallowed hard and made the decision. Taking his hand, I placed it on my face and reached a hand towards his. He looked at me seriously for a long moment, seeking to know if I was sure. I shrugged mentally and let him know that if we waited for me to be sure, we'd be here forever, and to just do it already. I flinched as he stepped into my mind.

I could see that he was attempting to be impersonal but gradually, as the memories and feelings cascaded, I could feel him beginning to react. Emotionally. And very strongly. I wanted to flee, afraid he would, in the end, turn away from me. Instead I let go. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.

T. E. Paris, philosopher.

The memories broke over me like a wave and I found myself taking refuge inside his mind. Beyond his reactions to whatever was going on in my mind, I could feel him, cool, almost... loving. That was all I needed to know. I decided to wait there until he was done.

\---::---

Tom took refuge in my mind from the tidal wave of images that very nearly swamped me. I find this metaphor to be appropriate to the experience. The maelstrom that engulfed me was somewhat... overwhelming.

It only made his control over the link all the more admirable. But as I sifted through the images, memories, and feelings, I discovered the reason he was so successful in melding with me, and in controlling the link, albeit unconsciously.

The emotions invoked during Pon Farr subside only after meditation, and in my uncertainty over my bondmate's feelings, I had had little success. And what I had found in Tom's mind disturbed me.

I disengaged the meld and pulled him into my lap, holding his body firmly against mine. Through the link I could feel confusion and trepidation. I sent reassurance to him, sending the anger elsewhere.

\---::---

It was comforting being rocked by Tuvok, but after he reassured me that the anger was not directed at me, I began to wonder whether maybe it was a father-figure thing after all.

I'm a little big to be sitting in daddy's lap.

At the dissenting -- and amused -- grunt in my ear, I realized that the link was wide open and he'd heard that. I turned to look at him.

~ T'hy'la -- I do not want to be your father. In fact, I find I hope that nothing about me reminds you of him. ~

I could feel the distaste in my love's mind. And I could feel satisfaction when I thought of him as 'my love.'

~ What's wrong, then? ~ I asked tentatively.

Tuvok sighed and shifted my weight against him.

~ You are an empath. ~

I jerked away from him. "I'm a what? You've got to be..."

Tuvok pulled me back to his chest and resumed the mind-to-mind communication. ~ I am unable to judge the extent of your abilities. You have been suppressing them since childhood. But the fact remains that you are highly sensitive to what others feel. ~

I opened then closed my mouth, unsure of what to say. My mind was a complete blank.

~ It is my surmise that your empathic abilities explain, to a degree, your level of comfort with me while we were stranded together. My lack of emotion was a relief to you. It also explains why you were so successful in shutting yourself off from the link. And why you did so unconsciously. ~

I leaned into his arms, trying to take this in. An empath?

~ We will need to work on your shields, ~ Tuvok said matter-of- factly. He pushed me to a standing position, then stood himself. ~ But you are exhausted, ~ he said as he led me into the bedroom. ~ Do you feel you will be able to man your station tomorrow? The captain will, I'm sure, be willing to give you time to recover. ~

"No, I'll be fine." I stopped talking as Tuvok began to efficiently strip me, folding my clothes neatly as he went. He turned from me and pulled down the bedclothes, indicating I should climb under them. I sent him an image of him tucking the blankets under my chin but did as he suggested.

He found this amusing, apparently, and I felt his satisfaction at my use of the link to send images instead of words. But the sight of him undressing distracted me. My mouth actually went dry. He folded his uniform and placed it on a chair on top of mine, then took a moment to appreciate my reaction to him. Only then did he say he needed to shower.

Well, he did.

I listened to the sounds of him bathing as he sent further thoughts of reassurance to me. Gradually my arousal diminished and my eyes began to drift shut.

I murmured and curled close as he slid into bed with me. I found myself thinking that a nice warm Vulcan was a highly desirable thing.

~ Tonight we will sleep, ~ he said. ~ Sleep, t'hy'la. ~

I couldn't argue, I was exhausted. And I vowed that I would make the most of any future events that included me, Tuvok, and a bed.

\--::--

~ Finis ~


End file.
